The Heat Is On!

[artemisdart]

Letter sent December 24, 2004

OK, so you all know that my husband and I are still new homeowners. When it comes to the experience, the savvy, the know-how... we just don't have it. Yet.

That's my only excuse for the following story.

It's been cold here. Now, I know about living in cold weather -- I'm from Minnesota, after all. My father kept the house at 65 degrees in the winter and we all wore sweaters and put blankets on our laps when sitting down, and went to bed at 9:30. None of this prancing around in t-shirts that these modern, insulated house-dwellers engage in!

As a general rule, I start to overheat if the indoor temperature is above 70 or 75 in the wintertime, simply because I'm usually wearing bulky sweaters to conserve heat. (I finally figured this out when visiting P&J, who prefer a subtropical temperature range, and have begun wearing layers on Tuesdays -- Hi P&J!).

We currently keep our house at 60 degrees, partly to save money (it's a large and drafty old house), and partly because my husband and I share an aversion to super-heated indoor spaces. Give us a wintertime where you really *need* to put on a sweater, not just *want* to put one on because it has reindeer embroidered on it (and then have to take off in 10 minutes because you start sweating).

It's actually my desire to never sweat again. I hate sweating. I moved here under the impression that it was always pleasantly rainy and chilly here. I was misled... but that's another e-mail.

Anyway, it's been cold here. You walk outside and think "This is cold!" You wear -- gasp -- gloves. (Yes, hi to all my Minnesota friends who are at this point scoffing and saying "40 isn't COLD!!" I know. Thank you.)

Our house is usually pleasantly chilly (to us). On Tuesday we got home from game and I thought "Darn, it's cold in here." Sitting on the toilet seat was an unpleasant shock (I thought of those Japanese toilet-seat warmers and for the first time it didn't seem an outrageous extravagance).

"Can you check the thermostat and see whether the temperature is really still 60 in here?" I asked my husband. "Because if it's not, then we have a problem with the furnace." He looked and told me that the temperature was indeed 60 degrees. Satisfied, I went to bed.

On Wednesday morning I got up and started shivering in the 2.2 seconds between disrobing and hitting the shower. "It's really cold right now!" I thought. (Such is my level of investigative thinking.)

On Wednesday when we got home from work, I made dinner. I noticed that the food I'd left on the counter was perfectly fresh, as though it had been refrigerated. I went off to choir.

When I got home, Andrew was already in bed. I began shivering all over in the 2.2 seconds it takes to change into PJs.

On Thursday morning I couldn't help noticing that my exposed skin all felt unusually cold, even my forehead and fingers. "I must be turning into a wimp," I thought. "60 is usually fine with me. Huh."

On Thursday evening I realized I hadn't heard the furnace kick on for some time (yes, this fact finally percolated through my teeny brain!). And I finally looked at the thermostat myself. The "desired temperature" reading was still smugly at 60. The "actual temperature" reading was at 52.

"AHA!" I said. "We have a problem with the furnace." Since I was already exhausted and stumbling towards bed, I resolved to deal with it in the morning.

So, this morning I got out of bed to the mental background of my own private soundtrack. With dashing intrepidity, I garbed myself in many layers of sleepwear (hey, the last week has taught me to layer!), and picked up a flashlight, some gloves, and my copy of "The Virgin Homeowner."

I checked the "actual temperature" reading. 48.

Venturing into the basement, I eyeballed the Great Beast in the corner. It was sitting quietly, with no obvious malevolent intent. It seemed... at peace. It definitely wasn't doing anything.

A night of sleep had inspired me with the thought that perhaps the furnace had been accidentally turned off during some home improvement project that had involved electricity. (It's a gas furnace, but maybe it's powered by electricity? I don't know! I know it burns gas and sits in the corner. What do you want from me??)

I peered at the breaker box, each switch of which is clearly labeled with what it controls. One switch read "electric heater." "AHA!" I thought, and flipped the switch right, then back left.

Nothing happened. (We have an "electric heater" in our attic, so that's probably what that was controlling.)

Undaunted, I turned again to survey the Great Beast. It seemed to chuckle to itself as it bested me in this fearsome battle of wits.

I remembered a section in, I believe "The Road Less Traveled," in which M. Scott Peck is talking about how hopeless he is regarding automotive repairs. He used to almost brag about it, averring "I'm just no use with cars." One day he said as much to a neighbor who was out fixing his car in the driveway.

"That's because you don't take the time," was the reply.

Dr. Peck was taken off-balance. Was it really as simple as that? Not some mysterious inborn talent that some people had, while others (namely, him) were sadly doomed to live without?

He tells the story of being in a situation in which he had to fix someone's car; he slid underneath and actually took the time to look at the car's underside (instead of glancing at it, then popping right back out and saying "Nope, I have no idea!"). He proudly tells the story of how he was actually able to figure out what the problem was and fix it.

Now, that story made a great impression on me. I was ready to look at the furnace and try to figure it out. I was mentally prepared.

But my story isn't anything like Dr. Peck's. Because my story ends like this.

I wanted to turn on the light to look at the furnace more closely. There was a light switch next to the furnace.

I flipped it "on" so I could see what I was looking at.

The furnace started.

And I laughed and laughed at myself, then came upstairs so Andrew could laugh too.

As I type, the furnace is pumping hot air through our sadly neglected vents.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a blast of hot air!